by Judith Kerr
“No, no,” said Mama, “I don’t think I could ...”
“Ach—always so proud,” said Great-Aunt Sarah. “The child needs new clothes. Why shouldn’t she have some?”
She rummaged in one of the boxes and pulled out some thick woollen material in a lovely shade of green. “Just nice for a coat,” she said, “and a dress she needs, and perhaps a skirt ...”
In no time at all she had assembled a pile of cloth on the bed, and when Mama tried again to refuse she only cried, “Such nonsense! You want the police should arrest the child for going about with her pants showing?”
At this Mama, who had in any case not been protesting very hard, had to laugh and give in. The maid was asked to wrap it all up, and when it was time to leave Mama and Anna each had a big parcel to carry.
“Thank you very, very much!” Anna shouted into Great-Aunt Sarah’s ear-trumpet. “I’ve always wanted a green coat!”
“I wish you luck to wear it!” Great-Aunt Sarah shouted back.
Then they were outside, and as Anna and Mama walked back in the dark they talked all the way about the different pieces of material and what they could be made into. As soon as they got home Mama telephoned Madame Fernand who was delighted and said they must bring everything round the following Thursday for a great dress-making session.
“Won’t it be lovely!” cried Anna. “I can’t wait to tell Papa!”—and just then Papa came in. She told him excitedly what had happened. “And I’ll be able to have a dress and a coat,” she gabbled, “and Great-Aunt Sarah just gave it to us because it was meant for needy children and she said I was as needy as most, and we had a lovely tea and ...”
She stopped because of the expression on Papa’s face.
“What is all this?” he said to Mama.
“It’s just as Anna told you,” said Mama, and there was something careful about her voice. “Great-Aunt Sarah had a whole lot of cloth which had been given to her and she wanted Anna to have some.”
“But it had been given to her for needy children,” said Papa.
“That’s only what it was called,” said Mama. “She’s interested in various charities—she’s a very kind woman ...”
“Charities?” said Papa. “But we can’t accept charity for our children.”
“Oh, why must you always be so difficult?” shouted Mama. “The woman is my aunt and she wanted Anna to have some clothes—that’s all there is to it!”
“Honestly, Papa, I don’t think she meant it in any way you wouldn’t like,” Anna put in. She was feeling miserable and almost wished she had never seen the cloth.
“It’s a present for Anna from a relative,” said Mama.
“No,” said Papa. “It’s a present from a relative who runs a charity—a charity for needy children.”
“All right then, we’ll give it back!” shouted Mama. “If that’s what you want! But will you tell me what the child is going to wear? Do you know the price of children’s clothes in the shops? Look at her—just look at her!”
Papa looked at Anna and Anna looked back at him. She wanted the new clothes but she did not want Papa to feel so badly about them. She tugged at her skirt to make it look longer.
“Papa ...” she said.
“You do look a bit needy,” said Papa. His face looked very tired.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Anna.
“Yes, it does,” said Papa. “It does matter.” He fingered the stuff in the parcels. “Is this the cloth?”
She nodded.
“Well then, you’d better get it made up into some new clothes,” said Papa. “Something warm,” he said and went out of the room.
In bed that night Anna and Max lay talking in the dark.
“I didn’t know we were needy,” said Anna. “Why are we?”
“Papa doesn’t earn a lot,” said Max. “The Daily Parisian can’t afford to pay him very much for his articles and the French have their own writers.”
“They used to pay him a lot in Germany.”
“Oh yes.”
For a while they lay without talking. Then Anna said, “Funny, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“How we used to think we’d be back in Berlin within six months. We’ve been away more than a year already.”
“I know,” said Max.
Suddenly, for no particular reason, Anna remembered their old house so vividly that she could almost see it. She remembered what it felt like to run up the stairs and the little patch on the carpet on the landing where she had once spilt some ink, and how you could see the pear tree in the garden from the windows. The nursery curtains were blue and there was a white-painted table to write or draw on and Bertha the maid had cleaned it all every day and there had been a lot of toys ... But it was no use going on thinking about it, so she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Tne dress-making session at the Fernands was a great success Madame Fernand was just as nice as Anna remembered her, and she cut out Great-Aunt Sarah’s cloth so cleverly that there was enough for a pair of grey shorts for Max as well as a coat, a dress and a skirt for Anna. When Mama offered to help with the sewing Madame Fernand looked at her and laughed.
“You go and play the piano,” she said. “I’ll get on with this.”
“But I’ve even brought some sewing things,” said Mama. She dug in her handbag and produced an elderly reel of white cotton and a needle.
“My dear,” said Madame Fernand quite kindly, “I wouldn’t trust you to hem a handkerchief.”
So Mama played the piano at one end of the Fernands’ pleasant sitting-room while Madame Fernand sewed at the other, and Anna and Max went off to play with the Fernands’ daughter Francine.
Max had had grave doubts about Francine before they came.
“I don’t want to play with a girl!” he had said, and even claimed that he could not come because of his home-work.
“You’ve never been so keen on your home-work before!” said Mama crossly, but it was not really fair because lately, in his efforts to learn French as fast as possible, Max had become much more conscientious about school. He was deeply offended and scowled at everyone until they arrived at the Fernands’ flat and Francine opened the door for them. Then his scowl quickly disappeared. She was a remarkably pretty girl with long honey-coloured hair and large grey eyes.
“You must be Francine,” said Max and added untruthfully but in surprisingly good French, “I have so much looked forward to meeting you!”
Francine had quite a lot of toys and a big white cat. The cat immediately took possession of Anna and sat on her lap while Francine searched for something in her toy cupboard. At last she found it.
“This is what I got for my birthday,” she said and produced a games compendium very like the one Anna and Max had owned in Germany.
Max’s eyes met Anna’s over the cat’s white fur.
“Can I see?” he asked and had it open almost before Francine agreed. He took a long time looking at the contents, fingering the dice, the chessmen, the different kinds of playing cards.
“We used to have a box of games like this,” he said at last. “Only ours had dominoes as well.”
Francine looked a little put out at having her birthday present belittled.
“What happened to yours?” she asked.
“We had to leave it behind,” said Max and added gloomily, “I expect Hitler plays with it now.”
Francine laughed. “Well, you’ll have to use this one instead,” she said. “As I have no brothers or sisters I don’t often have anyone to play with.”
After this they played Ludo and Snakes and Ladders all afternoon. It was nice because the white cat sat on Anna’s lap and there was no need for her to speak much French during the games. The white cat seemed quite happy to have dice thrown over its head and did not want to get down even when Madame Fernand called Anna to try on the new clothes. For tea it ate a bit of iced bun which Anna gave it, and afterwards it climbed
straight back on to her lap and smiled at her through its long white fur. When it was time to leave it followed her to the front door.
“What a pretty cat,” said Mama when she saw it.
Anna was longing to tell her how it had sat on her lap while she had played Ludo but thought it would be rude to speak German when Madame Fernand could not understand it. So, very haltingly, she explained in French.
“I thought you told me Anna spoke hardly any French,” said Madame Fernand.
Mama looked very pleased. “She is beginning to,” she said.
“Beginning to!” exclaimed Madame Fernand. “I’ve never seen two children learn a language so fast. Max sounds almost like a French boy at times and as for Anna—only a month or two ago she could hardly say a word, and now she understands everything!”
It was not quite true. There were still a lot of things Anna could not understand—but she was delighted just the same. She had been so impressed with Max’s rapid progress that she had not noticed how much she herself had improved.
Madame Fernand wanted them all to come again the following Sunday so that Anna could have a final fitting, but Mama said, no, next time all the Fernands must come to them—and thus began a series of visits which both families found so pleasant that it soon became a regular arrangement.
Papa especially enjoyed Monsieur Fernand’s company. He was a large clever-looking man and often, while the children played in the dining-room at home, Anna could hear his deep voice and Papa’s in the bedroom-turned-sitting-room next door. They seemed to have endless things to talk about and sometimes Anna could hear them laughing loudly together. This always pleased her because she had hated the tired look on Papa’s face when he had heard about Great-Aunt Sarah’s cloth. She had noticed since that this look occasionally returned—usually when Mama was talking about money. Monsieur Fernand was always able to keep the look at bay.
The new clothes were soon finished and turned out to be the nicest Anna had ever had. She went to show them to Great-Aunt Sarah the very first time she wore them and took with her a poem she had composed specially as a thanks offering. It described all the clothes in detail and ended with the lines,
“And so I am the happy wearer
Of all these nice clothes from Aunt Sarah.”
“Goodness, child,” said Great-Aunt Sarah when she read it. “You’ll be such a writer yet, like your father!”
She seemed terribly pleased with it.
Anna was pleased too because somehow the poem seemed to make it quite definite that the gift of cloth had not been charity—and also it was the first time she had ever managed to write a poem about anything other than a disaster.
Chapter Eighteen
In April it suddenly became spring, and though Anna tried to go on wearing the beautiful green coat which Madame Fernand had made for her she soon found it much too thick.
Walking to school became a delight on these bright, sunny mornings, and as the Parisians opened their windows to let in the warm air all sorts of interesting smells escaped and mingled with the scent of spring in the streets. Apart from the usual hot garlicky breath rising from the Metro she suddenly encountered delicious waftings of coffee, freshly baked bread, or onions being fried ready for lunch. As the spring advanced doors were opened as well as windows, and while walking down the sunlit streets she could glimpse the dim interiors of cafés and shops which had been invisible all through the winter. Everyone wanted to linger in the sunshine, and the pavements in the Champs Elysées became a sea of tables and chairs amongst which white-coated waiters flew about, serving drinks to their customers.
The first of May was called the day of the lily-of-the-valley. Baskets piled high with the little green and white bunches appeared at every street corner and the cries of the vendors echoed everywhere. Papa had an early appointment that morning and walked part of the way to school with Anna. He stopped to buy a paper from an old man at a kiosk. There was a picture of Hitler on the front page, making a speech, but the old man folded the paper in half so that Hitler disappeared. Then he sniffed the air appreciatively and smiled, showing one tooth.
“It smells of spring!” he said.
Papa smiled back and Anna knew that he was thinking how lovely it was to be spending this spring in Paris. At the next corner they bought some lily-of-the-valley for Mama without even asking first how much they cost.
The school building seemed dark and chilly after the brightness outside, but Anna looked forward each morning to seeing Colette, who had become her special friend, and her teacher Madame Socrate. Though she still found the school day long and tiring she was beginning to understand more of what was going on. The mistakes in her dictations had gradually been reduced to fifties instead of hundreds. Madame Socrate continued to help her during the lunch break, and she now managed sometimes to answer a question in class.
At home Mama was becoming a really good cook, helped with advice from Madame Fernand, and Papa said he had never eaten so well in his life. The children learned to enjoy all sorts of food they had never even heard of before and to drink a mixture of wine and water with their meals, like French children. Even fat Clothilde in the school kitchen approved of the lunches Anna brought for her to reheat.
“Your mother knows how to do things,” she said, and Mama was delighted when Anna told her.
Only Grete remained gloomy and discontented. No matter what Mama served up she always compared it unfavourably with some Austrian version of the same dish, and if it was something you could not get in Austria Grete did not think you should eat it at all. She had an amazing resistance to everything French and did not seem to get any better at speaking the language even though she went to classes every day. Since the promises she had made to her mother continued to prevent her from being of much help to Mama, everyone, including Grete, looked forward to the time when she would return to Austria for good.
“And the sooner the better,” said Madame Fernand who had been able to observe Grete at close quarters, for the two families still spent most of their Sundays together. As spring turned into summer, instead of meeting at their homes they went out to the Bois de Boulogne which was a large park not too far away and the children played ball games on the grass. Once or twice Monsieur Fernand borrowed a friend’s car and drove them all out to the country for a picnic. To Anna’s joy the cat came too on these occasions. It did not seem to mind being put on a lead and while Francine chattered to Max, Anna proudly took charge of it, holding on to the lead when the cat wanted to climb a tree or a lamp-post and following with the lead held high above her head when the cat decided to walk along the top of some railings instead of along the bottom.
In July it became very hot—much hotter than it had ever been in Berlin. There seemed no air at all in the little flat even though Mama kept all the windows open all the time. The children’s bedroom especially was stifling and the courtyard it overlooked seemed almost hotter than the inside. It was difficult to sleep at night and nobody could concentrate on lessons at school. Even Madame Socrate was tired. Her frizzy black hair went limp with the heat and everyone longed for the end of term.
On the fourteenth of July not only the schools but the whole of France had a holiday. It was the anniversary of the French Revolution, and there were flags everywhere and fireworks in the evening. Anna and Max went to see them with their parents and the Fernands. They took the Metro which was packed with cheerful people, and among a crowd of other Parisians they climbed a long flight of steps up to a church on top of a hill. From here they could see right across Paris, and as the fireworks began to explode against the dark blue sky everyone shouted and cheered. At the end of the display someone started to sing the Marseillaise, then someone else joined in, and soon the whole huge crowd was singing together in the hot night air.
“Come on, children!” cried Monsieur Fernand, and Anna and Max joined in too. Anna thought it sounded wonderful, especially an unexpected slow bit that came in the middle of the song, and she was sorr
y when it ended.
The crowds began to leak away down the steps and Mama said, “Home to bed!”
“Good heavens, you can’t send them to bed now. It’s the fourteenth of July!” cried Monsieur Fernand. Mama protested that it was late, but the Fernands only laughed at her.
“It’s the fourteenth of July,” they said, as though this explained everything. “The evening has hardly begun!”
Mama looked doubtfully at the children’s excited faces. “But what...?” she began.
“First,” said Monsieur Fernand, “we are going to eat.”
Anna was under the impression that they had eaten already, for they had had boiled eggs before they came out—but clearly this was not the sort of eating Monsieur Fernand had in mind. He took them to a large busy restaurant where they sat at a table outside on the pavement and ordered a meal.
“Snails for the children!” cried Monsieur Fernand. “They’ve never tried them.”
Max stared at his portion in horror and could not bring himself to touch them. But Anna, encouraged by Francine, tried one and found that it tasted like a very delicious mushroom. In the end she and Francine ate Max’s snails as well as their own. Towards the end of the meal, while they were spooning up cream puffs, an old man arrived with a stool and an accordion. He sat down and began to play, and soon some of the people left their tables to dance in the street. A cheerful looking sailor appeared at Mama’s side and invited her to dance. Mama was surprised at first but then she accepted and Anna watched her being whirled round and round, still looking astonished but pleased. Then Monsieur Fernand danced with Francine, and Anna danced with Papa, and Madame Fernand said she did not feel like dancing just yet because she could see that Max would absolutely hate it, and after a while Monsieur Fernand said, “Let’s move on.”
It was cooler now and Anna did not feel at all tired as they wandered through the crowded streets. There were accordions and people dancing everywhere, and every so often they stopped and joined in. Some cafés were serving free wine to celebrate the occasion and when they felt like a rest the grown-ups stopped for a drink and the children had cassis, which was blackcurrant juice. They saw the river shining in the moonlight and the cathedral of Notre Dame squatting like a great dark creature in the middle. At one time they walked along the bank and under the bridges, and there were accordion players and people dancing here too. They went on and on until Anna lost all sense of time and just followed Monsieur Fernand in a happy daze.
